Intentions
by Alternative Delirium
Summary: Pertains to chapter five of After the Storm. Fourteen months after the time-warp accident, Keira is involved with an aspiring racer. But her heart has always belonged to Jak, and she misses him more than ever when things start to get out of control...


A/N: Yes, I know my other fic isn't quite complete as of yet and you're probably wondering what the heck I'm doing writing another. Well, it only took three days out of my schedule to do this one, and I'd been wanting to elaborate more on this anyhow. So there. I really hope you guys like it. I mean, you're all awesome when it comes to After the Storm, and I just pray that you like this one just as well. Uh, it pretty much deals with Keira before Jak II, and that whole Erol experience that I was talking about in chapter five of After the Storm. So, this entire thing would probably make a lot more sense if you have already read my other fic. But if you haven't, it's cool. It's still self-explanatory enough. Well enough of that crap. Read on.

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I smile.

Funny, isn't it, how something so incredibly miniscule like a forced smile can make you feel so guilty? How simply raising the corners of your mouth a scant few centimeters is a conscious decision to lie? And when he sees me, apparently all too happy to be here with him, with his muscular arm slung confidently about my neck, he smiles back. Only his is a real smile, genuine and pleased. That's when I know he doesn't know me. He can't tell that I'm lying. He doesn't read me the way I'm used to being read. And in order for me to distract my own broken heart, my own deceitful mind, from correcting themselves and telling him that I don't love him, I look away and absently bring my hand to the back of my neck, feinting an itch.

'This is crazy,' I tell myself. 'I don't have to keep doing this.' And I'm right. I _don't _have to continue with this fragile balance of dishonesty versus loyalty. I could end it any time that I chose. But when I think I've worked up the courage to tell him, when the truth is right there on the tip of my tongue, the words fall half-heartedly to the shiny linoleum floor.

I don't understand why I make this so hard. Just a few words, an uncomfortable moment of anxious apprehension, and maybe even a little heartbreak on his part, and I won't have to do this again next Friday.

But I watch him hail the waiter, releasing me from his gentle hold around my shoulders to signal the man in the white shirt and tie to come closer. He casually motions toward the lobster tank, and the waiter nods curtly and glances at me, flashing an unprofessional wink in my direction. I flush at this unexpected admiration and look down at my lap, fighting the urge to make a face. Seafood is not at the top of my favorites list. I only humor Erol to keep from hurting his pride... This is the most expensive restaurant in Haven.

When I risk a peek back up at him, he's grinning roguishly. My cheeks deepen a shade of pink when he refuses to explain and I am obligated to ask, "What?" in as indignant a tone I can muster under pain of embarrassment, a discomfited smile of my own creeping onto my face.

"Nothing," he replies, the grin still his dominant feature. "I'm just thinking about how lucky I am right now." His overly satisfied expression hints at my role in his good mood, and I immediately sober, again feeling that tidal wave of guilt crashing on my conscious. That's it. I've got to put this to an end before it gets any harder.

"Erol," I begin, my eyes involuntarily seeking another object to focus on. "I'm really not any good at this..."

I am struck with an unpleasant feeling in my stomach when I meet his eyes. His brow is furrowed in mild concern and his eyes are trained entirely on me. I can't do this.

It's honestly not his fault that I'm not in love with him. He's a nice enough person, and he really cares about me, that much is apparent. There are things about him that I could stand to live without, like that hungry glint in his eye he's been fixing me with all night. I've seen that look before. I don't like it. Primarily because I know what follows.

He's already beginning to get suggestive. Once tonight he's leaned in and slowly kissed my neck, just at the curve of my shoulder. I won't say that it wasn't nice. It was, however, sudden, and the experience took me completely by surprise. I had found myself gripping the arms of my chair, neck stretched sensually, biting my lip to keep the gasp of mixed shock and pleasure from escaping. Totally unprepared, I let him continue to caress my neck and shoulder with his lips, all the while battling with diverse emotions. When he began to pull away, I was able to whisper only, "Please..."

He misread my plea and returned his kiss to my neck. I coerced myself into preventive action, as hard as it was to deny myself the sensual bliss. I leaned away from him, finding my voice and trying desperately to drive the point home.

"Please don't make a scene," I begged. My tone of voice had not completely recovered from the elation, and I sounded uncertain, even to myself.

He retreated reluctantly back to his own chair, attempting an apologetic gesture by straightening his napkin in an ashamed manner.

"I'm sorry," he stated, his voice full of regret for his actions. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I only want to express my affections. If I start doing anything else that makes you uneasy, please just tell me to stop."

I felt so bad. He certainly looked sincere, and his tone was extremely apologetic. I can't place it, but there was still something about the whole thing that made it seem rehearsed.

But now he gives me his full attention, waiting for me to finish what I need to tell him.

The waiter is back. I breathe a sigh of relief and frustration with my own inability to convey a simple message. The man carries a tray, two plates of lobster balanced expertly in his right hand. As I re-access my wording, a plate is put directly in front of me.

Oh man.

Lobster. How did I ever agree to this? I can't eat seafood. Whose bright idea was it to pull red-shelled creatures with enormous pincers out of the sea and eat them? Maybe I'll tell him I'm allergic...

Quickly, I excuse myself to go to the ladies room. As I pass his seat, he takes my hand. I turn a quizzical look on him, but he only raises my hand to his lips and kisses it tenderly. I hurriedly fake an appreciative grin and continue on my way.

Once in the bathroom, I collapse against the wall, relying on it heavily for support. I want to scream my frustration, but the world just became too much to handle, and venting my anger seems too momentous of a task. Instead I just stay there, eyes closed, until the bathroom door opens. I groan and straighten up, pushing myself away from the wall. When the older woman disappears behind a stall door, I lean on the sink counter, staring at myself in the mirror.

"Who are you?" I ask my reflection. This slender girl in the mirror is not Keira Hagai. Keira does not believe in keeping opinions to herself. She would have told Erol by now. She would be out of this ridiculously revealing red dress, into her comfortable flannel pajamas, and would be back home, either crashed out or reading by lamplight.

I've become something I'm not. I don't have to keep doing this to myself. I'm not _going _to keep doing this to myself. This is the last time, the absolute last seafood restaurant. All I need to do is confront him for one last conversation, one in which I can be Keira again, centered and true. That's it. Then I can go home...

Home.

What I really mean is that I can go back to the cramped apartment above my garage that I've been leasing for the past two years. I'm sure I'll never be truly home again. My home is in Sandover, approximately four hundred years ago. Please don't ask for the details. I'm in no mood to go over the complicated events that led to eventual, accidental, time travel and separation. That was the worst day of my life. I lost my father and two of my best friends that day. They're here too, somewhere in the city. They have to be. Well, it's not so much that they _have_ to be as it is I want them to be. They could be anywhere...

My eyes blur with painful tears just at the thought of everyone destined to walk different paths, never to see each other again. But I can't believe that. I shake my head, determined to keep the waterworks at bay. Erol will be suspicious if I have wet trails down my face when I return.

The memories aren't so easily taken care of. Where is everyone? I've searched this city high and low looking for them. I spent the first month and a half in Haven scouring the place for any trace of Daddy, that mangy ottsel, or Jak. What's going to happen to them if we never see one another again? Daddy's getting on in years, and he'll have no one to take care of him. Daxter... well, he'll probably be reduced to the life of a sewer-dwelling rat. Poor guy. And Jak... Oh, my heart hurts to even think of him. He's more than capable of taking care of himself, but it's not so much his welfare that I'm concerned about.

He's the real reason I could never give my heart to Erol. Or any other man, for that matter. Jak was always there for me. He was just so... so perfect. Those tears are coming back. I reach for a tissue and allow myself a brief cry, catching the incriminating drops in the tissue.

Jak was my best friend. My closest friend. We were practically lovers. Almost. We were hurled into the future before we could take our relationship to the next level.

God, I miss him. I want him back, more than anything really.

When I reach for another tissue, I take a quick glance at the ornate clock ticking silently above the paper towel dispenser. My whole body freezes. I've been in this bathroom reminiscing for ten minutes. I shoot myself a reprimanding glare through the mirror before hurrying to the door.

I try to still my heartbeat as I approach our table. Erol hasn't touched a thing on his plate, and that sends another pang of guilt right through my heart. He has a vacant, bored expression on his face, but when I pass him by to sit down, his eyes light up. Before I have a chance to pull my own chair back, he's on his feet, there to perform that task for me. My shoulders sag slightly. He's making this really difficult. Would it kill him to stop being a gentleman for five minutes?

I stand there, undecided as to my next course of action, when Erol clears his throat. He must be eager for me to sit so that he can eat. I oblige, and he returns to his chair. I spread my hands on the table and take a deep breath. When I look back up, I notice a smallish metal bucket filled with ice sitting on the left-hand side of the table. A bottle of Champaign sticks out of the ice at an odd angle.

I can't stop the moan of pure, mind-numbing guilt that works its way out of my lungs. Erol seems startled and looks at me through concerned eyes.

'Idiot,' I snap at myself. Oh well. This just gives me a prompt to get this over with.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his eyes flicking to the Champaign. "You don't mind that I took the liberty to order a bottle, do you?"

I feel like saying, "Yes, I do mind, because it's making it all the more difficult to talk to you." But before the real me was able to jump on that opportunity, my more pacifist side took the reins.

"Not at all. I just... I don't feel so good right now. I really don't think I should eat. But don't let me stop you," I add hurriedly, watching his face fall.

There's an awkward silence.

"Should I... take you home?" he asks pointedly. I can tell he doesn't want to leave without his meal, but he's still trying desperately to be the gentleman.

Again, I want to yell, "Yes! Take me home now before I get sick all over your lobster!" But I stifle the urge. I feel too bad to make his night a complete waste. Although mine already is.

"No, I'll be fine for a while. You go ahead."

He looks skeptical. The right thing to do would be to pay the bill and take me home, but he really wants that dumb crustacean. So I make a threat.

"If you don't eat, I'll force it down your throat," I warn in a playful tone.

He grins and shakes his head.

"If you're sure..."

"Sure I'm sure. I won't be the reason you didn't get your lobster dinner," I interrupt.

He picks up his fork and begins to trail it through the side salad absentmindedly. He's probably uncomfortable eating while I sit here and stare at him. I turn my head casually, pretending to interest myself in the hangings on the wall. As my eyes go over every detail of the paintings, every seam on the tapestries, my own thoughts laugh at me.

'Pretending?' they echo. 'That's a good word for it. After all, haven't you been 'pretending' all night?'

I silence that portion of my brain with a different thought. How should I break it to him? He's been so sweet all night. But if I can't learn to appreciate all the things he does for me, then I don't deserve him. I should let him go, so that he can find some other girl, one that will love him with all her heart, instead of taking his and not returning the favor.

_Crack._

I look up sharply. Erol gives me a sheepish grin. He puts the lobster tail back on his plate, the shell effectively broken. He then raises an eyebrow and nods toward the bucket.

"At least have some Champaign," he urges, making the suggestion more of a demand than anything.

I reach for the bottle. He beats me to it, bringing the Champaign towards himself, cradling it in the bend of his thigh. An expression of mild concentration passes his face as he presses the unopened cork with his thumbs. A moment later, a pointed _pop_ pierces the semi-silence as the cork flies out and soars a good yard before dropping to the floor. This event attracts the attention of nearby tables, and gasps and laughter break out following the white froth that spills forth onto the floor.

Erol looks pleased with himself as he returns the bottle to the table.

"That always means it's a good year," he explains, a cattish smile on his face.

I produce a thin laugh for his benefit.

He reaches the length of the table and pours the crystal liquid into my glass, stopping at the halfway point. He pours some for himself, but makes no attempt to drink.

I raise the wine glass to my lips and take a modest sip. Hmm. It is a good year. I begin to take another drink, but my hand freezes when I notice the look on Erol's face over the glass rim.

There's that hungry, greedy expression again. It's like he's watching my thoughts, willing me to drink the entire glass and pour out more.

So that's his intention.

I take the glass from my lips, resting it gently on the table.

This is it. I can't take any more of this tonight. I've made up my mind.

"Actually, I'm really not feeling well at all. Maybe you should..." I insist, trying my best to give the appearance of someone at risk of getting ill at any moment.

The longing look diminishes partially, and he pushes his chair slightly outward, as if he's afraid of getting vomit on his crisp blue flannel shirt.

'Good,' I comment inwardly. 'Just keep your distance.'

"Of course," he agrees, rising to his feet clumsily. "If you're feeling that bad..."

"Yeah, darn the luck, huh?" I stammer nervously. I'm just relieved that I don't have to wait another two hours before I'm curled up in my own bed. Alone.

He hesitates, noting the hint of sarcasm in my tone. I panic. He's going to start asking questions if I don't do something...

I cough as realistically as I can to cover my tracks. When I glance back up, he's standing beside me, something of an annoyed spark in his eye.

"Come on," he presses, just a tinge of sympathy in his voice. "Let's get you home, sweetheart. The last thing we want is for you to come down with something because I've kept you out all night."

Gratefully, I get to my feet. As I reach for my purse (something else the real me would never have much use for), I feel his cold arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me back into his chest.

Startled, I stiffen in his embrace. He again kisses me in the curve of my neck, although he knows that makes me uncomfortable. I clench my eyes shut and bear it until he moves his lips to my cheek. He brushes the side of my face gently with a tender kiss and pulls away slowly. I silently thank myself for telling him I feel sick. Now that he suspects I carry something contagious, he won't go near my mouth.

Before he pulls entirely away, he whispers in my ear, "Feel better."

His warm breath on my ear sends a tingling, but strangely foreboding, sensation down my spine. I give an involuntary shudder and follow him to the front desk.

I breathe a sigh of whole-hearted relief. There's my garage. And above that, my tiny apartment. It has never looked so inviting.

Erol pulls the zoomer as close to the walkway as possible before killing the engine. He gets down, offering me his hand. I hardly need the support, but I accept it anyway, sliding down as gracefully as one can in a dress.

I am more than ready to bid him goodnight right here and now and take off running into my garage, slip out of this dress, and take the stairs leading directly into my apartment in nothing but a bra and panties. After that, a hot shower to scrub the saliva off of my neck, and then I plan on collapsing onto my welcoming bed and never coming back out from the safety of its covers.

I am not so lucky. I can tell right now that he plans to walk me to my door.

I bite back a cry of anguish, allowing him to take my hand in his and lead me to the main lobby doors. It seems we will be taking the long way.

The apartment complex is dark, and I can hardly see two feet in front of me. A small bronze colored lamp sitting on the counter by the elevator is the only source of light in the dim lobby. When we reach the elevator doors, I attempt to brush him off. After the 'up' button is pushed, I turn to him.

"Hey, I had a really... nice time tonight," I lied convincingly.

He smiles at me. "So did I."

The elevator doors open with a sound much like a doorbell, and I am immensely dismayed to see that Erol is following me into the compartment.

"7F, right?" he asks casually, pressing the 'F floor' button before I have a chance to respond.

The ride up seems to go on forever. I just want to be in my own place, my own bed, without Erol's revoltingly polite company. At long last, the doors open again, and I face a long, green-carpeted hall lit dimly by shaded lights hanging on the walls between every other apartment door.

I control my pace, but Erol still has to step quickly to keep up. None too soon, my own door with the lopsided lettering "7F" is directly in front of my face. I fumble for my keys in my purse, taking them out with a self-satisfied, triumphant grin. In record time, my door is unlocked and I realize I've yet to shake Erol.

He's still there. He probably wants me to invite him in. 'Yeah, right,' my thoughts comment. 'I think I've had about enough of you for one night.' I just need to say good night and send him on his way. He'll understand.

I turn, and stop.

There, more horrifyingly apparent than ever before, is that sickening, lustful, sex-starved look.

I back away from him until my back runs into the door. Oh my God. What's he going to do? I have never been so scared in my life. Maybe I'm imagining it...

I blink, and that meaningful expression is still there, plain as day.

I can make him leave. I'll have to tell him to go.

"Erol," I begin, my voice high and unnerving. "Erol, I think we should call it a night. Go home," I urge, my tone cracking under fright.

He advances on me deliberately. I reach for the doorknob, but it slips through my fingers in my frantic rush. He puts his arms out, each one blocking an escape route to the left and right. He's so close to me now. He leans against the door with his arms and pushes his lips against mine. So much for my contagious theory.

I almost gag in his mouth. He tastes like lobster. I try to push him away, to pull my head back, but his arms and the wall prevent me from doing either. I am trapped in this forced assault, and he's not going to let me go until he has his way with me.

The doorknob... I reach for it again, but he's too fast. He slides his left arm down the door and grabs my wrist.

Oh God.

He breaks the savage kiss suddenly, and I turn my head aside, eyes tightly shut.

He's using his right hand to unzip the back of my dress.

Tears of fear and righteous hatred spill over onto my face. I can't stop him. He's too strong, too stubborn... Where is Jak? Or Daddy? Even Daxter? What I wouldn't give for one of them to jump to my defense right now.

"No..." I sob pathetically as he slips my dress strap down my shoulder. "Stop this, Erol! We don't have to do this..."

He hisses something venomously close to my ear. I'm sure it's something crude and vulgar, but I'm too frightened to register the complete thought.

I realize that my right hand is now free from his grasp.

Before I have a chance to decide on an action, he grabs my upper arms roughly and forcefully spins me around, so that I am again facing the door. This sends me off balance, and I stumble as far as his grip allows before knocking my forehead against my door. I cry out, the sharp pain and his searching fingers combining into a heartfelt exclamation of mixed emotions. Mostly fear.

I notice that my body is trembling with an anguished anticipation. Why is he doing this to me?

He pushes me forward, trapping my arms between the door and my own body. He presses himself against me, as close as he can get without being inside me. His breath beats hotly on my ear as he finishes undoing my zipper. I'm really crying now. The tears cascade down my face in an almost continuous trail.

I gasp as something warm, wet and slightly textured begins to trace its way up my neck. He's running his tongue over my skin.

I feel my body go limp instinctively. I've lost. I'm helpless, crushed beneath his weight. Momentarily, I am victim to a terrified stupor of self-pity. I'm going to loose my virginity to this... this _monster_. This is not how I imagined it would happen. I always thought that I'd give myself to Jak, willingly, on a romantic night, full of passion and beauty.

My racing thoughts are brought back to the here and now as I feel his calloused fingers pulling violently at the thin dress strap, determined to remove it in as little time as possible. He's so eager... I know that in a few more terrible moments, I will be utterly naked, entirely at his mercy.

I _can't _let that happen.

With his hands busily removing the second strap, I push myself away from the door fiercely, viciously sending my elbow into his ribs.

My first attack catches him off guard, and he stumbles back a foot or two, shocked at my sudden aggressive behavior. The second offense knocks him back further, clutching his side, the wind stolen from his lungs.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, I turn myself around to face him, holding my left arm across my chest to keep the dress from falling off. He looks up at me, bent double, with an expression of annoyance in his eyes. He straightens and advances on me again, like an instructor making ready to discipline a misbehaving student.

He thrusts his arm out at me, an attempt to take hold of my wrist. I do the only thing my petrified mind can think of.

With my free arm, I wheel back and slap him directly across the face, putting all my remaining energy and force into the blow.

He staggers back. There is a red, telltale print on his cheek, and his hand flies to the spot, testing to see if I had drawn blood.

He holds his face in his hand, the glare he fixes me with dripping with a fury I have never seen before. His eyes alone frighten me past the limit of sanity, but I force myself to stand, legs shaking, until I am sure of what his next move will be.

'Open the door, Keira. Open the damn door and get inside. _Now_,' I scream at myself. But I am fixed to the spot by his menacing glower. I stand, tears falling sporadically onto the thin carpeting below, my own returning expression one of disgust, hatred, and resentment.

When he finally takes an uncertain step towards me, I have no choice but to threaten him with a bluff.

"God damn it, Erol, if you take one more step, I'm calling the guard! I'll tell them everything. I'll bring it to Praxis' attention. I'm sure he'd love to know that his trusted advisor is a rapist."

He falters, a tiny flicker of indecisive fear passing over his face.

The moment goes by, and he forces a deep-throated laugh through his insecurity.

"You don't have those kind of connections," he spits, pure malice adding pronunciation to each word. "Besides," he continues, that glint of indecisiveness resurfacing. "It would be your word against mine. Who's the Baron going to believe? Me, or some random girl off the streets?"

My hand clenches into a fist at my side, and I make ready to use it if he comes any closer. Suddenly, I find a better alternative, and that fist relaxes and goes to the doorknob. I turn it clockwise, and there is a soft _click_ as it swings open partially.

"I'm going to go get the phone..." I warn in as intimidating a tone I can muster, retreating a step into the safety of my apartment.

He too, retreats a step, that satisfying uncertainty crossing his face again. Before he can control his nerves, he backs off completely and heads for the elevator at the far end of the hall. He glances at me over his shoulder as he departs, shouting in my direction, "Have it your way, you deceitful bitch! I'm gone."

I watch him warily as his angry stride takes him into the elevator compartment, and I return the contemptuous glare he shoots at me before the doors conceal his face.

I haven't noticed, but one of my neighbors, a short, stocky man in his bathrobe, has emerged from his doorway to see what all the noise is about. He too, watches Erol disappear into the elevator, and then gives me a wrathful look.

"What the hell are you kids doing out here?" he exclaims vehemently. I can't answer him. My legs are done supporting me, and I pull my door closed so that I don't fall into my doorway when my back leans against it. I slide down until I am nothing more than a sobbing victim, sitting half undressed outside my apartment. I try so hard to forget everything that's just happened, try so hard to push it all away.

'I'm in denial,' I reason. 'I need to get inside. I have to get some sleep. God, give me strength.' I know that these tasks are beyond me as of the moment, and I make no attempt to stop the flow of frightened and disbelieving tears that pour from my eyes. Slowly, I gather my legs close to my body and wrap my arms around them, burying my face in the soft red fabric. I am aware of my entire body convulsing in the aftershock-induced nervousness, but I'm past the point of caring.

All I can think of is how bad I need Jak now, how much I need him to hold me and comfort me. "Oh, Jak..." I insist to myself, my voice a whisper.

My concerned neighbor finally understands, taking from my appearance that something tragic has just occurred. His voice softens, and he asks me sympathetically, "Hey, do you want me to call the guard?"

I bring my tear stained face up to look at this man, wanting to say yes. But I find myself shaking my head slowly. He approaches me, and puts his hands in the air in a subdued gesture when I involuntarily cower away from him, making myself as small as possible.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he reassures in a caring voice. "I promise. I want to help. Who was that jerk?"

I look at the elevator as if he were still there. I tell this stranger what I was too spineless to tell Erol.

"I don't love him." My voice sounds distant and scared.

He gives me a funny look, like I'm delirious.

"It's okay," he soothes uncertainly. "You should probably get inside, where it's safe. Lock you door, just in case." He offers me a hand.

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the lingering tears and reluctantly accept his. He helps to pull me to my shaky legs and opens the door for me.

As I stagger inside, he asks after me, "Are you going to be okay?"

I glance at this man. He really is concerned. Although my answer will not put his mind to rest, I am compelled to tell the truth after this dishonesty-laced night.

"No," I say simply. "No I won't."

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A/N: Like I said, probably most relevant if you've already read my previous fic. Or at least, chapter five. Anyway, thought I'd just give a bit more insight to that certain occurrence, considering most of you liked that chapter more than others. Even if you haven't read After the Storm yet, it's not too late! Go on and read it. Oh, and I'd like to thank Joy, as is the custom, due to the fact that she pretty much ate this one right up. Thank you Joy, for being so damned obsessed.

Reviews would be much appreciated. Always a very welcome thing, those reviews.

And to Kyle: May blended squirrels find their way into every milkshake you consume. Ya stupid freak.

-LL


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